“You’re just upset you didn’t think ofit.”
“I think it would be more accurate to say I’m upset that you did.”
I realize, then, why we’re still here: neither of us has a clue how to wrap thisup.
Even if I did want to leave—which I don’t—what do I even say to Connor in this moment?Thanks for the best date I’ve ever been on, see you Monday? By the way, did you think it was a datetoo?
He, at least, looks just as awkward about this as I do, like now that we’re about to part ways it behooves us to acknowledge what exactly it is we’ve been doing allday.
“Do you know how to get home from here?”
I scoff at what he’s implying. “I do have a basic working knowledge of the New York City Metro, you know.”
“Seeing as you havego up the Empire State Buildingon your bucket list, I didn’t want to make any assumptions.”
I’ve already been fighting for composure all day, but the evil little smile he gives me tips me over the edge. Connor is never more irresistible to me than when he’s teasing me like this. His tiny, gentle little insults are subtle reminders of just how much I’m on his mind.
I’m leaning forward before I consciously realize what I’m doing, rising on my toes and dropping a kiss onto his cheek. It’s warm and smooth and the second I make contact it’s nowhere near enough for me, so I regroup, grab his shoulder and kiss him full on the mouth. It’s startling in its novelty, but also familiar—like some secret part of me has known about kissing Connor all along.
I canfeelhis surprise in the way his shoulder tenses under my hand, and though it can be said that I am kissing Connor, in this moment it could not be said that he is kissing me. But then a split second later he catches up with me, tilting his head just a fraction and sending the pressure right back. Our lips move together softly, tentatively. I slide my hand up to the back of his neck, closing my fingers around his hair, launching myself into kissing him with everything I’vegot.
Too much, maybe: he jolts back to earth and releases me, taking a hasty step back. The look on his face is one of extreme shock. I’m sure mine mirrorsit.
It feels like a giant speech bubble is floating above the two of us readingwhat the hell was that, exactly?
“Did I—” I say reflexively, just as he says, “I don’t think we should—”
We both halt.
He tries again. “This isn’t a good idea.”
I scramble to take it back. “I—sorry. I didn’t meanto—”
I’m stammering, trying to string together a sentence that will erase the last thirty seconds and vanish me off the face of the earth. It feels like a bucket of cold water has been tossed over my head. The mortification is bracing.
“Annie—”
“No, my bad,” I say, shaking my head, holding my hands out in front of me, as if I can physically stave off the humiliation. “Forget it—I don’t know what I was—”
“It’s just—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, cutting him off before either of us makes this worse than it alreadyis.
I give him a small wave—though am no longer looking at him to verify if he actually saw it—and then I turn and hotfoot it down the subway steps.
I could win a marathon at the speed I’m moving. Nice to know, I guess, that my fight-or-flight response is in good working order.
Miracle of miracles, a train is pulling into the station, the doors gliding open just as I push through the turnstiles. I rush onto the train, power walking to the farthest possible corner of the carriage, wishing I could keep going and continue walking straight off the edge of themap.
A short eternity later, the doors close, and we move: Connor hasn’t followed me. I sink into the closest available seat, hugging my tote bag to my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it does nothing. The image of Connor’s grave face sayingthis isn’t a good ideais seared into my brain. It burns me the entire way home.
Eighteen
An hour later, I burst through the apartment door, hoping against hope that Carrie is still on my sofa, too hungover to make her way home.
Turns out I needn’t have worried—she and Sam are side by side smoking a bowl.
Carrie is infinitely more presentable than when I left her. She’s freshly showered and back in her jeans, wearing an oversized sweater she’s stolen, I notice, off the back of my desk chair. The table has been tidied away, the sheet is gone, her water has been replaced by a huge iced coffee. It’s like she lives here.
